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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120029">Perks of the Queen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothecest/pseuds/intothecest'>intothecest</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Folgers "Home for the Holidays" Commercial, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brother/Sister Incest, Coffee in Westeros, Cousin Incest, F/M, Fixing Season Eight's Mistakes, Folgerscest - Freeform, Holidays, I consider them both even if one's just adopted, Inspired by Folgers "Home for the Holidays" Commercial, Oaths &amp; Vows, Post-Canon, Presents, Promises, Prophecy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, they both failed geography - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:14:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothecest/pseuds/intothecest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After years in his exile in the Night's Watch, Jon Snow finally answers a summons to Winterfell from his sister, Queen in the North, just in time for a festival. Gifts are exchanged, long-simmering feelings percolate up, and, oh yes, coffee has come to Westeros.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Perks of the Queen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was at dawn that the man in black finally came, trailing a beast behind him, a beast almost invisible against the snow. The queen of the castle knew what to look for, though... but it was the man who captured most of her attention. She watched as he dismounted his horse and landed his boots in the snow... and then looked up, right at the window where she watched, as though he could sense her. She drew back, instinctively, wondering if he'd caught a flash of her red hair, or if it was just the snow in his eyes making him blink. A ragged cheer raised up from the men at the gate, a violation of her instructions, but she couldn't bring herself to punish the men responsible, aside from an acid tongue when delivering the next batch, an insistence that this time they be obeyed. </p><p>Taking one more look at the man, his dark hair obscuring his face from this angle, and then allowed herself to be escorted to her throne where she would greet him properly. </p><p>There, Sansa Stark sat, waiting with a regal posture befitting the Queen in the North, as her visitor was led into the room. He was older, of course... time did that, but it seemed like the years had worn on him, not enough to put even the mildest stain on his beautiful features, but instead to ennoble them. Paler though, than she remembered... the short days and long nights of winter were wearying for Sansa, but as far north as he was, he must barely even see the sun... it made him almost look like something carved from ice himself. Still, he stood proud, and there was a hidden warmth within him. Here was a man who had been through so much, and had not let it beat him. Much like her... perhaps that was why she felt he was the only one who could truly understand her.</p><p>He looked up at her and those dark eyes, they burned into her, that smoulder he always had that made her once think that maybe she was the warm fire that he needed after a long journey in what was north even to the North. A warm fire like that burned in actuality here in the throne room, though, but his gaze never wavered from her. "Leave us," she said, to her retinue.</p><p>"My..." </p><p>She cut the objection off after one word. "Your queen has spoken. I am in no danger from this man." Not that she expected they saw any danger, save perhaps the danger of wagging tongues, but good guards were always a little reluctant to leave their queen alone.</p><p>The second order was enough, and her retinue filed out, marching, closed the door behind him, leaving the Queen alone with her long awaited visitor, with Jon Snow, her brother. He still wore his black beard, and she thought she imagined a hint of silver in it, but no new scars, at least on the parts of his body she could see. <i>Pity most of it is covered by that accursed uniform.</i> Though she couldn't deny he did look <i>good</i> in the Night's Watch outfit. </p><p>And the face was enough to enjoy... she let herself drink it in, knowing it might not last long, and feeling it warm herself, too. They locked eyes, wordlessly, for a few seconds, before his gaze slid away, took in the rest of the room, and his grim lips brightened into a delightful half-grin. <i>What must he think of me?</i> she wondered in the second before he spoke. <i>I never should have let them put ribbons up in here</i> she thought, randomly. <i>It must remind him of the foolish girl I used to be.</i> </p><p>"I must have the wrong castle," he said finally, but the old playfulness in his eyes, not from when they were children and she made a big show of ignoring him and enjoying his pouting reactions to that, but from the short time they were together--partners--trying to save the world from monsters, and in need of a little light against the dark times they knew were ahead.</p><p>So she smiled too. "Has it been so long you don't recognize your sister?" she asked, half-jokingly, pointing to herself. <i>Not </i>really<i>a sister, not by blood. Cousins, at best.</i> But she'd spent so long foolishly reminding him he was only her bastard <i>half</i>-brother when they were children, as though he was <i>less</i> than family, that she couldn't bring herself to make the distinction any more, not unless he did.</p><p>Jon's face turned solemn for a moment and, gazing into her eyes, said, "I recognize my queen."</p><p>Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Of course the Night Watch recognized any of the Kings or Queens of Westeros with as much neutrality as they could manage, even when there were conflicts... but he'd said <i>his</i> queen, like an oath, and even though she knew it wasn't, the thought stirred a roil deep inside, her stomach trying to fight off a hope she dare not even consider because it was against both practicality and what she knew of the designs of fate, totally impossible. </p><p>Then again, there were times she thought it was impossible she'd <i>see</i> him again. And if this was all she got, it would have to be enough. But if she wasn't really <i>his</i> queen, not in a way that mattered, she wasn't going to let him get away with the stiff formality the Night's Watch might give to any lord or lady or king or queen they were obliged to visit. Sansa rose from her throne and held her arms out to him, embracing him in a warm hug that seemed to surprise him, but to her relief she felt his arms encircle her, hold her tight as she breathed in the scents around him, like leather, and a primal, animalistic smell, she might well be imagining but she thought she could pick up hints of wolf, or dragon, or some combination of both, and below that something... more than either of them, familiar, comforting. "Oh, I've missed you so much."</p><p>"Not as much as I've missed you," he said, but Sansa knew that had to be a lie, especially because of his next words. "So who's this recruit?" Because of course he wouldn't just visit, not as an exile. He had to be here on business of the Watch, and he wasn't even the official recruiter... but being a Queen had its perks, and one of them was to request Jon Snow personally escort a young man of the North about to take the Black. </p><p>"An orphan," she said, trying to recall the details of this particular case. He certainly wasn't the first she made the request about... but he was the first Jon had shown up for. On each prior occasion, a raven had returned apologies, that her royal request was impossible because <i>"the member in question"</i> was <i>"beyond the Wall and cannot be reached,"</i> and gave a vague assurance that if things changed before the official recruiter made his regular trip they would would consider it then. "His family used to work for the Karstarks, but it's been hard for him since the house fell. He was working at a forge for a time, but had his heart broken by one of the other apprentices." Jon's eyebrow raised, but only a moment. The Old Gods didn't care if men lay with men, and rumor was there were many in the Night's Watch of that persuasion. "So now the boy's decided life at the Wall might be right for him. He requested you personally to escort him." With only a little prompting. "He thinks the world of you, you know."</p><p>"So clearly he's not very bright," Jon said, with a hint of self-effacing humor but she worried reflected a true belief underlying it. "Can he at least swing a sword?" </p><p>Her nose wrinkled in amused mock doubt, although she didn't really know the boy very well. "He might find a good place with the Builders."</p><p>"There's certainly still plenty of work for them. Very well, I'll meet with him, see if he's serious, and then we'll get back on the road..."</p><p>"Jon Snow, you will <i>not.</i>" Sansa attempted to summon all the royal authority she'd learned these past few years into her voice. "You know what all these decorations are for, don't you?"</p><p>He looked around again, then, with his face still half turned away, slid his eyes back to her. "You're going to make me stay the whole festival, aren't you?"</p><p>"Well, I'll not have you take a young man away to the Watch and not be allowed to enjoy what could well be his <i>only</i> Winter's Ease in Winterfell." She couldn't believe her luck that Jon showed up at such an auspicious time, just in time for the celebration that marked that, though plenty of cold and snow remained, the coming of the end of winter was near. It was a time where everyone, rich or poor, common or noble, knight or criminal, sighed in relief. Winter was hard, and it would come again, but they'd faced the worst of this one already and knew that they could make the remainder. Probably, anyway. Such predictions were inexact... last winter was marked by the False Spring, and even though Sansa wasn't born yet she remembered stories from her parents generation of how everybody celebrated too early and suffered for it when winter resurged. These days, the Maesters sent ravens weeks apart, first cautiously announcing that, by their measuring of how fast and how consistently the days were lengthening, the winter <i>might</i> be nearing the end, and then another confirming their guess it was less than a half-year away, with a warning that the seasons change by powers beyond their control and can never be accurately predicted by men. As if the North needed reminding of that. The North remembered... but still, people needed to celebrate sometimes--some said their castle was named for the fact that each winter, indeed, fell eventually. And this forecast was looking much brighter than their warning, years ago, that the winter might well be as long as the decade-long summer that had preceded it. "And you wouldn't leave me without any other family in Winterfell, would you? It is a festival <i>for</i> family, after all." With Arya still exploring the world, and Bran the King of the Six Kingdoms, without Jon, she'd have to celebrate alone... perhaps Uncle Edmure might make the journey, if she requested it, but he hardly counted.</p><p>"I suppose I could delay my journey back a couple of days," he allowed, making Sansa smile in delight.</p><p><i>And perhaps more,</i> she added privately, and then did her best to not think about that hope. Hope was like a single candle in winter, it might keep you going if it was all you had, but it wasn't wise to depend on something that could disappear when the wind changed. And she knew the prevailing winds and how unlikely this particular candle was to stay lit. Yet some of the things King Bran had told her at their last meeting, which should have extinguished it entirely, somehow kept an ember alive.</p><p>She took Jon's hand. "Walk with me, to the godswood?" she asked. He bowed his head in acquiescence, and they began to walk, and as they crossed the threshold, Sansa furtively snatched at one of the ribbons. Outside, her guards joined them again, for the journey at least, although she knew they would retreat once they were within the safety of the godswood itself. Along the way they collected Ghost, Jon's great white dire wolf, who might have terrified some but to Sansa, merely sniffed her hand once before nuzzling her, instantly comfortable allowing her into the circle of his master, while remaining wary of the other guards. Ghost, like Sansa, must have been aware of Jon's discomfort, at the looks of many of them, and those they passed along the way, and mistaking his master's unease as a potential threat. It was anything but... many of these men would proudly die for him.</p><p>Sansa resented that sometimes, not that loyalty, which they gave her as well, but the reverence with which many here still seemed to hold him. She was not the type of Queen to keep herself apart from the people of Winterfell, but it was still noted when she passed, never taken for granted... except today, where it seemed like everybody was only stopping to look at the hero Jon Snow passing. But it only bothered her a little. She knew she had the people's respect, not just as the one who made the North a kingdom again instead of a vassal state, but by her shrewd leadership through winter as well. It was hard to compete with the myth that grew up around Jon, but then, she didn't actually have to.</p><p>"Some of them waited up all night for you, you know?" she pointed out, nodding at the men, savoring the adorable way Jon cast his gaze away like he was embarrassed.</p><p>"It's a long way from the Wall," was his response, and though the words implied the uncertainty of travel amidst winter weather, she had a feeling coming at dawn was deliberate, to escape people making a fuss as much as possible. Coming in time for dinner would necessitate a celebratory feast, and if he arrived in the dead of night, there would be men who would insist on rounds of raucous drinking, but at the break of morning people's passion for ceremony was muted. But not all the way. "And anyway, they shouldn't have bothered, I'm just a member of the Night's Watch. Nobody special."</p><p><i>You may say that as often as you like,</i> she thought, <i>But you'll convince no one in Winterfell.</i> The North remembered. All that he was before, and Sansa knew all that he could be again, but getting him to agree to that wouldn't be easy, and like a battle picking a moment was vital. At the entrance to the godswood, she said to the guards, "Leave us. But send in a page with my favorite warm drink. Two mugs." They nodded, and allowed Jon, Ghost, and their Queen to enter the godswood. </p><p>"Warm drink?" Jon asked.</p><p>"It's tradition. So they tell me." </p><p>He nodded, catching on. It was her first winter, and Jon probably couldn't even remember the tail end of the winter he was born in, but you don't grow up in the North without learning all the stories, the rituals, so you can play your part when winter inevitably comes for you. Like the way the Weirwood tree, the heart tree, was festooned with ribbons, in place of the blood-red leaves that had been shed over the winter, to remind it of spring. So, too, was the traditional warm drink in reflection of the tree and the shelter it provides. </p><p>After they stood for some quiet contemplation of the tree, a young page, scarcely older than Jon when he left for the Wall, approached, holding a tray, his steps uncertain, as though afraid of spilling a drop, though despite his care the tray wobbled with his own shaking hands. The two empty mugs clattered, and the pot between them sloshed with liquid. "Ahh, tea. Thank you," Jon said, and then looked to Sansa and guessed, "Real Winterfell tea..." with a hint of longing, as though he missed the somewhat bitter but bracing drink made of roots that was a local specialty.</p><p>She almost hated to disappoint him if it was something from his past he looked forward to, but hoped he'd like this even better. "Not exactly," Sansa revealed, taking one mug from the tray. She passed it to Jon, then took the pot and poured a rich dark liquid, first in his mug, than her own left on the tray. She put the pot back, and took her filled mug, giving a smile to her page. "Thank you, you may go. Get yourself some cider, it's cold."</p><p>"Yes, your grace," the boy said, then broke into a smile. "But... he's here." He nodded to Jon.</p><p>"Yes, he's here. I'm sure he'll have plenty of stories to tell, but, later." The boy nodded, getting the hint, and rushed off, although with a look back, a bit of a smug, knowing look that was just annoying on such a young boy.</p><p>Once he was gone, Jon looked over his steaming mug again. "So, what's this, then?"</p><p>"It's a new trade item, from... it doesn't matter." She couldn't point it out on a map, and he wouldn't recognize it anyway. They both failed geography. "Still very rare, expensive. But you remember the Folgers? They found a way to make a pretty good brew out of a certain type of bean." He leaned in, sniffed it, found the smell agreeable, and then took a sip.</p><p>"Wow, that's..." He seemed at a loss for words, and Sansa took an warm revitalizing sip for herself, a pleasure doubled by watching Jon enjoy his first taste. "Something."</p><p>"I didn't like it at first but now... it's truly the best part of waking up," she said. "For now, a perk of the queen, and those she cares for. If they manage to produce enough for all of Winterfell, I might have to make them a noble house. House Folger, has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" It wasn't just a joke. Trade was important, and with the stimulating and invigorating effects of this drink... she'd already told them she'd consider awarding them the castle at Last Hearth, and the titles to go along with it, if they could produce the ground beans on a grander scale, and they seemed to think they could do it. They were commoners, but at her promise were already drawing up banners, a sun rising over mountains.</p><p>It was almost a shame she had to waste this cup. She took one more sip, and then poured the remainder of the mug out at the base of the tree. Jon did likewise. The intent was, a warm drink, shared in front of the heart tree, then shared <i>with</i> the tree, giving the roots a taste of warmth again, to give the tree hope to last the rest of winter. Not that it needed the help. A Weirwood, even untended, would outlast generations of men... but that wasn't the point. Tradition was made of small rituals like these, and they were for the people. To bind them together, a common story. Like her and Jon, standing in front of the heart tree, just looking at each other. His lips opened, closed, like he wanted to say something, but instead he just wet his bottom lip in his mouth and looked away.</p><p>Then he did talk, but only as he turned away. "I brought you something, from far away," he said, and knelt down to Ghost, who, she saw, had a small pouch tied around his neck. </p><p>"Really? Oh..." she said, at a loss for words herself, excitement, hope, rising inside herself despite all her admonitions, despite the terrible mixed warning and promise Bran had given her. He'd said nothing about a gift. Gift-giving to family was a Winter's Ease tradition, but she'd assumed Jon's schedule was coincidence, that he hadn't had time to make arrangements, or hadn't thought to, and was prepared to forgive him, and now was left just slightly off-balance that she didn't need to. While he was undoing the knot that secured the pouch, she placed her empty mug in the snow to be retrieved later.</p><p>He stood, held it out the pouch to her, and she took it, without opening it, held it in her hands next to the ribbon she'd already secreted there. But she was unwilling to abandon her plan entirely, and so leaned forward, and started to tie the bow around one of the crossed straps across his chest. "What are you doing?" he asked, looking down at himself a moment.</p><p>"You're my present this Winter's Ease." </p><p>He smiled widely, showing teeth, and then his lips closed just a little, and looked again into her eyes and the smile seemed to be covering some intense tension. </p><p><i>This is it</i> she said. <i>Maybe Bran was wrong.</i> Or confused. Prophecies could be maddeningly misleading, she'd heard. "And since you've given me two presents, perhaps you'll accept one in return?" Jon's head tilted. "Winter's Ease is a time for old traditions, but this winter hasn't been like any other. It's time for new traditions. I thought of one, another perk of the Queen, and King... in honor of our victory over the Night King, that from this winter forth, every Winter's Ease... we release one member of the Night's Wat..."</p><p>"Sansa, no..." he said, cutting her off, stabbing at her heart.</p><p>"Bran has agreed." Which was only true in a limited sense. He agreed that she could make the offer, but in his distant, knowing way, warned that he would refuse. But again, prophecies were misleading, maybe he would refuse <i>until she had convinced him.</i> And she had to try. This winter had been lonely. "It's been years, the reasons for your exile..."</p><p>"Are still reasons. The Unsullied still want me dead." It was a compromise, but Jon blithely walking around free might plunge Westeros into another war... if they made it blatant.</p><p>"You'll have the whole North protecting you." If the Folgers made good on their promises, she had no doubt the Northern Army could stand up to all of the Unsullied.</p><p>"I'll not take your kingdom from you, Sansa."</p><p>And she was suddenly infuriatingly mad. "Who said anything about <i>take</i>?" But only for a moment, since he had the right idea, in his pigheaded way, but wrong in specifics. "I'll still be Queen. But you could be..." <i>Say it,</i> she tried to tell herself. </p><p>"I'll never be a free man, either. I've made an oath. A vow."</p><p><i>A vow would be offered, and refused.</i> Bran had said, and yet she refused to believe it at the time, not wanting to believe Fate was as frozen as a winter lake. Even if it was, she knew her younger brother couldn't have been referring to the Oath of the Night's Watch... that wasn't refused, it was already taken, for the second time, and Sansa didn't think Jon Snow had it in him to break it again. And yet she was stubborn and hoped she could convince him, and ignored the obvious result, and now she was so mad at herself that the only thing that made sense was to take it out on him. "What about the vow you made to me?" she asked. "When you told me that where we go, we go <i>together</i>. That you would protect me." She supposed that didn't properly count as a vow or an oath, but it had felt like one, and he looked wounded at the reminder.</p><p>"You're strong, Sansa. You're the Queen of the North. You don't need my protection anymore."</p><p>"I need <i>you</i>," she insisted, not feeling much like a queen... queens didn't whine. "You know I came up to the Wall, once." What was left of it. "Just to see you. I stayed a week."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"Hoping you'd return from whatever mission you were on, and we could just talk." Though she had indeed wanted to talk him into returning home, and she had some foolish hope in her head that he had avoided her because he knew she might be successful. "They said it might be months. I was prepared to wait... but a queen has duties."</p><p>"I know," he said again, looking guilty.</p><p>"Your friend Sam, he's Grand Maester in King's Landing. <i>He</i> doesn't have to live at the Wall, or go on long expeditions beyond. Why can't the same be true for you? Or have you found happiness there? Is there some wild woman beyond the Wall who needs you more than I?" she asked. "Is that it?"</p><p>"No, there is no o... no woman." She wasn't sure she believed that, but perhaps no single woman who'd laid a claim on him, that might be true. She'd heard the Free Folk were like that, taking lovers and discarding them. She imagined, diligently without picturing it, that Jon had indulged from time to time. But that thought didn't bother her, much. One of the perks of being a queen, and a widow no less, was that she had experience with the more discreet of her suitors, not often, but enough to know the act was different with someone determined to be to be gentle, someone with whom she could close her eyes and pretend to truly want, and you could lose yourself in the moment, could come to crave it like she craved her favorite brew in the mornings. She and Jon owed each other no loyalty in that way, no vows exchanged, and as for hopes... she'd already had her heart broken when he returned on a dragon with a new queen. But even that long-remembered sting of betrayal, at the time she held on to a sense she had that it was mostly duty, that he was making the best choice he thought he could, for the North, for her, for all life. Even when he was with the Mad Queen Daenerys, the way he looked at Sansa sometimes, when she wasn't around... it <i>couldn't</i> all have been her imagination. "I took an oath," he repeated.</p><p>She composed herself. "And I'm offering to release you from that oath."</p><p>"You can't release me from an oath I didn't make to you."</p><p>Her composure broke. "Then what use is being queen? If I can't have my king?"</p><p>He stood there, dumbstruck, winds of winter blowing his hair around. There, she'd said it. She didn't mean to, it slipped out, but it was done, she took the chance that going forward through the storm she caused was safer than back. Even if, like Bran had warned, she would not get what she wanted. He said she'd find a way to survive, but not get all that she desired. <i>A vow would be offered, and refused.</i> he'd said. And yet, for all that she'd accidentally admitted to Jon, she'd still not asked him to make a vow for her. Until she had, Bran's prophecy wouldn't come true. "Sansa, you can't mean..."</p><p>"You're not my brother..." she said. "Not really, not by blood. We're cousins. Cousins marry all the time in Westeros. It's not even wrong in the eyes of the old gods, or the new. Certainly not in the eyes of a Targaryen." <i>Less wrong than an </i>aunt<i> anyway.</i></p><p>"I'm not a Targaryen," he lied. "I'm just Jon Snow, your brother." That was true, too, and always would be. But deep down, that didn't matter to her. She'd feel the same about Jon if he was her full-blooded brother... she just knew she'd have even less hope of convincing him. "And you don't know what you're saying, Sansa." But he look shook, wounded, and rarest of all like he might be defeated. Perhaps he'd been alone in the winter for too long, that this time it had weakened him instead of forged him stronger. </p><p>She was tempted to exploit it. But if she asked him to swear a vow, it would be refused.</p><p>Unless she chose the <i>right</i> vow. Prophecies were tricky things. "Then tell me I'm wrong," she said. "Vow to me, on the heart tree, that you don't feel what I do, that you don't wish we could be together. That I'm just a foolish girl, with foolish romantic dreams that I should just get over. So I can move on and accept one of the proposals I've been refusing." <i>Winterfell will have an heir.</i> Bran had promised, but it would have to one way or another, wouldn't it?</p><p>"You <i>should</i> marry someone," he said, and it looked like it pained him to say it. "Someone you love. You deserve a king who can make you happy."</p><p>"<i>Vow</i> to me," she said. "And I'll choose one. Before the Winter's Ease festival is over."</p><p>The moment hung forever, the only sound the wind through the heart tree and her own beating heart. <i>Damn Jon and his honor sometimes, but for just this once, let it work against him.</i> "I can't give you what you want, Sansa," was all he said, and that was all but confirmation. </p><p>But it was a sword that cut both ways, for Bran had still warned, that she would not get all that she wanted. Jon might still not budge, even if he wanted it... it might just wind up hurting both of them more. But at least she might finally hear him say what she longed to hear. "What we <i>both</i> want?" she pressed.</p><p>Instead of answering, he quoted his damn oath. "'I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.'"</p><p>Her heart fell, but in the breathless ache forming, the ember of her hope flared anew. <i>You won't get all that you want, Sansa.</i> Bran had said. But the key word was <i>all</i>. That left room for some. And her life had taught her that usually, <i>some</i> was all you get, and you had to fight to make it <i>enough</i>. She took a step forward. He didn't retreat, although he looked like a scared rabbit. "No wife, no lands, no children, no crowns, no glory," she repeated. Another step forward, now into his personal space, just enough she had to tilt down her head to look him in the eyes. She was taller than him, but that felt right now, if he wasn't to be her king, if she was the one with the power, why slouch? "Did you vow no kisses?"</p><p>"No," he admitted, though he wasn't smiling. He was torn.</p><p>"Did you vow no sharing of bedchambers with women?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"And plenty of the Night's Watch have... encounters, do they not?"</p><p>"Some..."</p><p>"Then I won't ask you to break your oath to the Watch," she said, though it hurt to say it. "All I ask in return is you give me Winter's Ease. And perhaps, find a way to visit more often after that. The Queensguard can be discreet." The word <i>consort</i> ran through her head. Usually queen consorts were married to their kings, but she knew of several in history who were simply described by that one single word, because the king refused or was unable to marry them. This moment in time, when men of the North had just seen that women could be as capable leaders as men, braver, smarter--before they inevitably forgot, as she assumed they always had in ages past--Queen Sansa had been lucky and bold enough to claim all the same rights as a male monarch. Why not a consort as well? That didn't count as a title, did it? Just a description. Better than royal mistress or concubine, at least. Not as good as a husband, but... yes, if she had to, she could make that <i>enough.</i></p><p>As for his vow to father no children... well, they might try not to, there were ways to prevent it, she could promise to use those and not even lie... but you can't fight prophecy. <i>Winterfell will have an heir.</i> If that prophecy was true, it didn't mean Jon had to <i>claim</i> the child. Kings had bastards, why not a Queen? Only she'd be kinder, give the child the name Stark, make them an heir. And she knew, this bastard would be one that would be accepted, despite occurring out of wedlock. The story of Jon's true parentage had spread, and when she'd first floated this idea of releasing Jon from the Watch, not only were most at Winterfell's court in favor, a few had dared to point out, casually, as though it was merely an interesting fact, that cousins marrying was not unknown, subtly trying to give her the idea they probably felt was ideal, to give the North both the queen they respected and the king they revered. This solution, with Jon refusing to leave the Night's Watch, wasn't ideal for them either, but if she suddenly announced she was with child, they would not be displeased, nor surprised. Of course, she might claim divine providence but in Winterfell, there would be few doubts as to when and how it happened. Those of the North weren't stupid... but they could keep secrets... after all, hadn't Father kept Jon's? </p><p>Ghost pounced a few steps forward, pushing gently at Jon's legs in the process, as though endorsing what even he could see coming--or perhaps he had just finally taken an interest in the smell of the liquid poured into the snow. Either way, the action caused Jon's face to jolt in her direction, but not to kiss, and he had to adjust his position swiftly to avoid a bump, but then their eyes locked again, and his eyes crinkled up and a faint, resigned smile formed. "Who am I to turn down a request of my queen?" he asked, and they leaned into each other for a kiss she'd dreamed about for years. It built slowly and then became passionate, him holding the side of her face like he'd just discovered he was dying and her kiss was the only thing that could save him.</p><p>Queen Sansa of Winterfell had not gotten all she wanted, and no vows were made. Jon might yet change his mind, blame it on a moment of weakness... but for the first time, she had hope she didn't want to fight down, hope that tomorrow, the best part of waking up wouldn't be the Folgers brew.</p>
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